


My joyful heart

by Kalendeer



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalendeer/pseuds/Kalendeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recently released from the house of Tulkas, Melkor wanders the roads of Valinor in solitude when he meets a quite attractive elf - one he is determined to possess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassisFantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassisFantasy/gifts).



> This is an attempt at writing a Fëanor/Melkor that isn't OOC or rape, yet Melkor being Melkor, he is definitly a creepy stalker and the story might include dubcon/noncon later. 
> 
> Trigger warning for depression.

I spend my first weeks of freedom wandering Valinor.

By freedom, I don’t mean the parody of liberty I enjoyed while working in Tulkas’s household. Tulkas hates me, doesn’t trust me, never will trust me, and is very, very bad at hiding his feelings. I wouldn’t care if he didn’t have enough strength to make me pay for every offence, real or imagined, and a quick hand to boost.

But my servitude comes at an end; now, at least, am I fully able to wander… as long as I remain in Valinor.

Valinor is small. Elves may not feel constricted there; I however, am a Vala. I roamed the empty expenses filled with stars and the depths of the oceans. I swam in the red hot rivers of Arda, slept at its whitest poles. I’ve been in the sky and visited the flesh of things living and dead.

Valinor is _small_.

When my brothers and sisters captured me, I thought I would bear the sentence and remain unchanged. I was Melkor. I was Power. I was Freedom incarnate. How could they hope to _tame_ me?

Fear. Fear and pain and undesired isolation can tame anything.

Can tame _me_.

***

As I wander the wild, I decide I will abide by Manwë’s laws. I cannot hope to do anything nefarious with Tulkas and Oromë breathing down my neck, and what I yearn for now is to be left alone. If I am obedient, charming enough, my soft hearted brother will show leniency. In time I will return to my own lands, perhaps rebuild my strength… but for now, breathing (I don’t _have_ to breathe, but it’s quite agreeable), walking and enjoying the Light like an overgrown cat will be enough.

I make for myself the face of a handsome elf, quite anonymous, as I don’t really want to attract attention. I would gladly go bodiless if such _ruses_ weren’t forbidden to me at the moment. I’d honestly go naked if I hadn’t been told the elves have certain taboos about not wearing clothes. These little creatures really went a long way since Cuivienen, where they wandered with only their hair to cover themselves.

I travel for days without meeting anyone for more than a customary greeting. I don’t have to eat nor seek shelter, and so I don’t need anyone’s help but my own, and doesn’t seek extended company.

At least, not until I meet _him_.

He’s riding at a walking pace, sitting on a magnificent chestnut horse, slightly slouched, as one who travels for leisure, or at least is in no hurry. The gold light gives a warm glow to pale skin and hair dark as ink; yet his eyes shine with Varda’s Light, more primal, colder, yet hotter than the Trees. His grabs are simple, his hair tied back in a single, slightly sloppy braid. I know horses from working in Tulkas stables (as I said, he knows how to show respect to his betters): this steed looks too good for the non-descript clothes.

Yet, the beast doesn’t look good enough for this wonderful, Varda-kissed creature.

We meet at a crossroad, and I hope dearly he will not chose the path I come from, for I will have no easy flowing excuse to stalk him. I am too bored to ignore the appeal of feasting my eyes on him, and have nowhere to be.

“Well met, stranger,” I say with my most charming smile and a joyful voice. I may have my reputation, but I can be quite the seducer when I make the effort.

“Well met,” the rider answers with far less pleasure than I would have liked to, as if he is actually considering continuing on his way without further socialization.

Well, I won’t allow that. I want this elf. I am very good at getting what I want (less at keeping it).

“Where are you going?”

“Why are you asking?”

So much for friendliness.

“My name is Eldil. I wouldn’t mind travelling with you, if you do not mind.”

He looks like he does mind, so I flash him my best friendly smile. He wouldn’t _dare_ turn me away.

“Alatheloro.”

“Truly? Your parents named you _Joyless_?”

“The name is well deserved.”

“By well deserved, do you mean awful? Whoever did that you did not love you nearly enough. May I call you Alassindo?”

_Joyful heart._

The dark haired beauty stares at me with a mix of indignation and astonishment. I do guess he is not used to be renamed by random strangers on the road, but then, why he keeps this dreadful name is beyond me.

“Why not,” he answers, quite unexpectedly, sounding like he does not know if this is an affirmation or a question. “The proper pronunciation, however, is Alathindo. How do you know we travel in the same direction?”

I shrug.

“I am going nowhere in particular.”

“Why follow me?”

“You look nice.”

He throws me a puzzled look and lets out a small laugh, sounding half like a bark.

“Define _nice_. I have not been particularly friendly to you.”

“I am quite sure you have a kind heart.” And a very nice body under those clothes. “Likewise, you are very beautiful. If that answers your question.”

Another puzzled glare, and a short, yet too long silence.

“Aren’t you the special one, stopping unknown riders on the road to rename them and call them _nice_.”

I shrug. Again.

“I am a people person.”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“Of course. The more time I spend away from people, the less they annoy me. I haven’t talked with anyone for… some time.”

“I guess loneliness elucidates the finding-me-nice mystery then. Friendliness by default.” He sighs, lifts his gaze to the horizon with quite the dramatic face, but I don’t have the time to mend my blunder before he resumes talking. “Fine. Actually, I can use some company.”

***

We do not walk very far until Alathindo calls for a stop. He has been riding for a long time, he says, and his horse needs his rest. I watch him unsaddle and rub down his mount. We are not in a hurry, and once he is done, we move to harvesting enough wood for our fire.

“So, where are you from?” I ask. I want to know everything about him, and him to keep nothing secret from me.

“Tirion.”

“Beautiful city I heard.”

“You have never been there?”

“No. My parents made me in the middle of nowhere and we stayed there. I do not know much of the world.”

“Hm. Hence your rather peculiar social skills.”

“At least they didn’t call me Joyless.”

“I have a terrible family, alright?” Seems like I struck a sore point. “You should go to Tirion. You are missing incredible pieces of art and beauty. The architecture, the statues, the mosaics on the plazas…”

“Why?” I interrupt him loudly. I am used to make myself heard. “I met you in the middle of nowhere. I doubt I will ever find anyone as beautiful as you in any city of the world.”

“How would you know? How many people do you know? Have you seen every single elf in Valinor, nay, in Arda? That would be the premise in order to declare…”

“Oh please, can you stop wallowing in self-pity for a second? I know what beautiful is. You are. You are handsome. Very handsome. You are beautiful like Varda’s sky and frozen snow.”

“I, er… how have you ever seen snow if you never left your home? Snow is almost unknown of in Valinor. You can barely find any of it away from Taniquetil and the highest mountains.”

“Poetic license.”

I send him my most dashing smile. He looks away, the tip of his ear growing red, as if burnt. Living with my brethren taught me most people love to be complimented, although, most of the time, they deserve no praises at all. There is no reason this wonderful creature wouldn’t bloom if showered with enough admiration.

“There are some, hum, wild fruit trees I spotted earlier. Can you light the fire? I willcome back, with some… apples and water.”

“Alright.” I am good at lightning fires, not so at picking apples. “I have no food to share, though.”

“I have some, er, plenty. Don’t worry. It’s alright.”

I watch him go, waiting for him to get far enough, with his back turned, before creating a small yet strong flame with my mind, not using my hands or any tool at all. Then I sit and review in my head the last hours. I was charming and so very nice even Nienna would approve of me. Apart from my desire to own Alathindo, I see much pros to having him. For one, we Valar are _supposed_ to live with a mate, and not having one was always a source of either pity or suspicion or unwanted attention from other Ainur, as if none of them could grasp that I wasn’t interested in any of their petty essence. Manwë will also most certainly understand my efforts as proof that I wish no harm to his wretched Children.

It is just a matter of time before Alathindo understands my sincerity and starts responding to me, for surely, this meeting must have been ordered by… what, Fate? Iluvatar? I have long given up on my creator showing anything but frustrating sadism toward me.

The elf is taking an awfully long time coming back.

What if he ran away?

I get up, abandon my fire and stride straight for the wild orchard. _No one_ will walk away from me, especially not _my_ elf, certainly not after I went to great lengths to be friendly and nice and polite and helping, none of those actions being remotely _natural_ to me.

He hasn’t run away. He is, instead, crying, sitting under a tree with a few apples scattered around him.

I did not do anything to him, yet I feel the beginning of fear building up. I did nothing… but what if I did? What did I do wrong? Can the Valar send me back to Mandos if I did not do it on purpose?

“I am sorry.”

It is a lie but I really don’t want to be sent back to Tulkas.

“What?”

Weeping elves are ugly. Red eyed with sticky faces.

“I am sorry. I was not meaning to hurt you.”

It is a lie, I am not sorry at all. Being sorry is useless. If you break something, being sorry is not going to bring it back, and contrary to what Nienna pretends, it will not make anyone feel better. To my amazement, it does have some effect on Alathindo. His eyes remain red but at least he wipes his nose.

“Why? You have been kindest to me in a single a day than anyone I know since… I don’t know. I think I really have a terrible family. It is ill justified of me to complain. I messed it up.”

“I understand the feeling. I hate my brother and my sister spends her days wallowing in misery for every. Single. Fucking shits happening in this world.”

“My brother is _perfect_.”

“He sounds quite despicable to me.”

“Oh no. Trust me. You would love him. _Everyone_ loves him. He is everything I am not.”

“I am not everyone, and I have a problem with those who usually are… popular. Elder brother?”

“Younger.”

“Same.”

“Is that why you are out there?”

“Valinor is too small to escape my family.” _Arda_ is actually too small to escape my family. “I am currently trying hard to ignore them. You should do the same.” And stay with me.

“I cannot. I will have to come back to Tirion at some point. Whatever I do, I cannot _escape_. Everyone has already decided what I am supposed to do with my life, to achieve for them and how I am supposed to behave to be _acceptable_. Sometimes… sometimes, I feel too much. I cannot keep up with their expectations, or stop myself from acting like _myself_ to try to fit and please them and be enough, then I mess up and…” He wipes the new tears from his cheeks. “I messed up. I really messed up with someone I love. What if she never wants me back?”

Good.

“I understand the feeling.” I do. _I do_. This is starting to get uncomfortable. “For what my mind is worth I do not think you messed up. _They_ did.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you are perfect.”

“I am a stranger to you. You do not make any sense.”

“But, I do.” I bring my fingers to his cheek. His skin is warmer than I would have thought. It’s so pale I had, somehow, the instinct that it wouldn’t be as warm as common elven skin; more like snow. “Love at first sight.”

He chuckles, as if I were joking, but I am _not_. Love may not be the word. I do not love. I lust. I envy. I want.

I _want_ him.

I let him know, with the strength of my gaze, how much I want him. Does it look like love to him? I don’t care. He wants to be desired. Relished. Adored. He wants undisputed attention, praises, love, reassurance. I just have to feed him what he wishes for.

My fingers travel slowly from his cheek to the nap of his neck. His hair are still warm from the fading light of Laurelin. Heavy, slightly damp with perspiration. I pull him to my chest (he is tall, but I am taller) and bury my face into his neck, tongue licking the sweat. I want to have him whole, taste him, _possess_ him, and am very pleased by the sharp intake of breath I hear against my hear.

“What…”

“I love you.” I kiss his neck, then the soft skin of his ear, and move to the cheek when he turns to face me. I am looking into his starlit eyes.

“You know nothing of me.”

“But I do.” He is pushing against my chest, just enough to keep some distance between us, but not nearly strong enough to escape my embrace: not for lack of strength, but from lack of will to pull away. “I can see you, Joyful Heart. Understand you. I can make you happy, because I love _everything_ you are. You _are_ …” I purr, as I unleash all my charm (and a bit of Power) toward him.  “… _perfection_.”

“Perfection is foreign to Arda Marred.”

“Then what am I holding right now?” I seek his lips. He doesn’t refuse me, despite the shyness and reluctance of his kiss.

“We cannot, Eldil. I am…”

“Why not?” I ask, interrupting him. He closes his mouth, swallowing his protest, avoiding my eyes. We remain like this, silent, while he battles with himself to come to a decision. My impatience gets the best of me and I bring my fingers to his face again, brushing lightly against his brow.

Alathindo starts and turns back to me like a cornered, miserable prey, stuck between his unhappiness and the relief I offer.

“I am…”

He stops. His expressions change so fast a mind less sharp than mine may not have seen them, yet I am unable to grasp the complexity of them. Is he even considering refusing me?

“You are right. Why not.”

I kiss him hungrily, though in all honesty he may be the one kissing me. Once his decision is taken, Alathindo throws himself into what he’s doing. His arms are strong, his embrace hard, his legs firms under my hands. He gasps he didn’t even know such thing could happen between two males; I don’t know the customs of the elves, and don’t care, so I kiss him hard and long to hide my own ignorance. I feel like he is not as uninformed as he claims, but I haven’t touched anyone myself, yet know well how mating works: one just has to watch some animals, or to have lived within an hundred miles of Tulkas and his lecherous wife to know.

The clothes go away almost by themselves, with much fumbling and tugging and skin contact, until we are both naked. He is, as expected, magnificent, with chiseled, strong muscles, square shoulders, and a few burn marks on his forearms. I don’t stop to wonder about their provenance: I lay him (gently but firmly) on his back and start licking him, trying every inch of skin for all the tastes of him. Again, he doesn’t object. I was right. That one likes to be cherished, and starts making delighted noises when I move to lick between his legs.

Looks like elves like to be touched exactly where Tulkas likes his wife’s fingers, or were _I_ like them for that matter.

“Ah,” he pants, _loudly_ , when I take him in my mouth (all my thanks to Nessa for that one). “Bit… less teeth please… ah…” I feel one hand grabbing my hair, which is… well, I know what I am doing, so I pry his finger from my head and hold his hand instead.

Actually, I do not _know_ what I am doing, but I do not need him trying to be domineering. I swallow him as he comes, taking every drop as _mine_. His face is dazed, most pleased, almost _relieved_. I am obviously very good at this.

I am a bit baffled about how to proceed next. As he said, mating between two males isn’t _done_ , and I am quite aware he’s not… well, constructed as Nessa is. I am, however, the one Vala most gifted with unending imagination, and like to try new things, and so decide to take a risk and see what happens.

His reaction, this time, is slightly _less_ enthusiastic.

“Are you alright?”

“That _hurts_ you… what did you…”

“What people usually do I guess?”

He breathes hard, so the answer is probably that people usually don’t fuck each other that way.

“You are _very_ tight.”

“Either that or _you_ are too big.”

“Try relaxing.” I could make myself smaller, but I am not going to betray my true nature unless obliged to do so. I do, however, find him quite dry and _perhaps_ that is cause for some discomfort. Easily solved, and far more discreetly than changing my own body, as I only have to will myself to provide the necessary fluids.

“Try rela… I have your cock in a very uncomfortable place right now! You could at least have asked if…”

“I got carried away. Now that we are there we can try and see if anything happens.”

He glares. At me. He should be thankful to even be touched by me! I do not wait for his assent (my cock is already there anyway) and start moving, only to be interrupted _again_.

“I did _not_ agree to this!” He is strong, but I am stronger. He is like a turtle on his back, pinned down by my weight, and he fails to push me away. I resume kissing his neck, damp with fresh sweat, and hear him curse into my hair. “Let me… wait.”

“What?”

“Do it again.”

“What?”

“That exact same move that you just did – that wasn’t… it’s not…”

“Like this?”

“Better.” He’s pensive now, as if listening to some tune I can’t hear. Trying, perhaps, to make sense of what I am doing and why his body reacts to my ministrations the way it does. “Much better,” he sighs dreamingly as I settle into a rhythm, repeating the move he enjoys most. “Same angle. Harder.”

“Please.”

“What?”

“You could at least ask politely.”

“Harder. Did you ask before you fucked me? I didn’t hear you asking. _Harder_. Wait. Not that hard. Yes, like… good. Oh. Good good good…”

He comes before I do, and I keep going for a bit after his gasps have quieted. The orgasm shakes me like a star exploding and I have to catch myself not to crack my shell. I lie down by his side, panting, arms around him, made mine.

“That was… surprisingly good.”

I just hold him tighter, proud of my newest achievement, and fall asleep.

 


	2. One with one

We Valar have no need for sleep, but there is one thing that will definitely cause slumber: sex. Hence why I always wait for Tulkas to stage an orgy before I attack my brethren.

Telperion is blowing in full when I wake. Alathindo is gone from my side; so are his clothes, and mine are carefully folded a few steps away. I gather them and stand, naked, not bothering to put them back on.

My stomach lurches. There is no sign of him. Despite the assurance that what passed between us was pleasant, I wonder if he ran away, until by nose catches the smell of burning food. I emerge from the orchard to see him sitting by the fire.

I really have to work on not thinking this elf is fleeing every time he gets out of my sight.

He raises an eyebrow at my nakedness. I drop my clothes away from the fire and myself at his side, near enough to snake an arm around his shoulders.

“How long was I out?”

“Two hours, approximately. I currently lack the precise means to measure the time.” He hands me a tin bowl stuffed with some white grains and yellow mash. “Rice with cooked apples.”

“What about you?”

“I only have one bowl. I ate already.”

My body does not require food, but refusing would be suspicious. I accept the offering. Rice with cooked apples belongs easily amongst the “surprisingly good” things happening to me today. Perhaps I should build a kitchen for my elf once I get back to Utumno and take the habit of consuming cooked food.

“This is really tasty.”

“Thank you,” he says, but he sports this self-depreciative smile that means he only pretends to believe me. “I can do better. I do not have much in my pack.”

“No, this is good.” Most probably because it is the first time I eat anything cooked. Why I have never thought of burning things before putting them into my mouth? Perhaps I did not give enough credit to elves for ingenuity, but then, the elves I worked with in the past were too busy being terrorized or half-dead to be of much use. “Yavanna does not mind having this transformed by fire?”

Surprise paints itself all over Alathindo’s face.

“Not that I know of. You never cooked anything before?”

Of course I did, but not in a way that made said things edible. Yavanna didn’t approve of that.

“No.”

Alathindo’s puzzled look would be funny if his disbelief was not dangerous for my cover.

“Are your parents still practicing rites from Middle Earth? Is it a Cuivienen custom?”

“Hm, I guess? I never considered the matter of cooking.” Because there is nothing to eat in Mandos, and while Tulkas loves food, he sees it as a pleasure not to be shared with me. “We eat raw food.”

“No meat then?”

“Of course we eat meat.”

Meat is very good. Perhaps I should ask Alathindo to cook some, and see if it tastes different.

“Raw meat?”

“Of course. You never had raw meat?”

“No. I tried raw fish once in Alqualondë.”

“I dislike fish.”

Alathindo winces in agreement.

“I find the smell and texture slightly disgusting. How do you prepare raw meat?”

I open my mouth only to close it. I do not _prepare_ raw meat. I just kill the beast and plunge my teeth in its flesh. Do elves do that? I do not think so. Elves mostly have flat teeth, much like preys (which is why I tried to sharpen the teeth of the elves I got: to give them better chances of survival in the wilderness). Perhaps this is why they eat cooked meat. Is it easier to chew?

“You chop it in little pieces.”

“But how do you keep the meat from rotting?”

“You eat it almost immediately after you kill the prey. You can add other things. Like herbs.”

“What kind of herbs?”

I put a huge spoonful of rice and apples into my mouth and mumble something that _may_ sound like it was supposed to be words. Random words. I have no idea what herbs. Herbs are just herbs, I never stopped to wonder at their particularities. I do not wait for my mouth to be empty before I stuff it with _more_ rice. Alathindo throws me an odd stare but doesn’t comment.

“That was really really good,” I beam. Because it was. I cannot wait for more cooked food. Perhaps I should speed up my metabolism in order to empty my stomach quicker.

Actually, I can wait.

“Do you want to have sex again?”

He is struck with astonishment, mouth slightly open, then _laughs_. Is he mocking me?

“I am sorry,” he excuses himself. My displeasure must have shown. “I did not mean to sound disrespectful. Your enthusiasm is…”

“Weird?”

“No. Unusual. You are very straightforward.”

“Bad trait?”

“No. Refreshing.”

I put my (his) bowl on this ground and move to kiss his cheek. He likes kisses.

“Now I understand why you did not put your clothes back on.”

“Perhaps I just like to walk in the nude,” I whisper into his ear while I sneak an arm around his waist, the other to his shoulders, and pull him to my knees. “Perhaps I did hope to lure you back into my arms.”

“Lure?” He laughs, a clear chuckle, if a bit… strained? “Luring implies that I put myself into your arms, thinking this was my idea. You are the one grabbing me.”

“Do you mind?”

I have the time to kiss the tender skin behind his earlobe five time before he answers.

“I… don’t know yet. I am used to be very… domineering? With everyone. I am used to be obeyed. I impress people. I have a lot of responsibilities. I take very badly to being manipulated. I like being _in control_.”

“Are you not?”

“Am I?” He pushes lightly against my chest, disengaging my mouth from his neck. “You penetrated me without asking me permission not two hours ago, and did not stop when I protested, and _you ask me if I am in control_?”

“You liked it.”

“No, I did _not_. You hurt me, I told you you did, and the only thing you had to say was “relax” and “you are tight”. Even when I tried to touch you, you took my hand away. You are _very_ controlling, Eldil.”

“But you liked it, right?” I tighten my arms around him. I enjoy bringing pain to others, or at least do not mind, but I was not planning to hurt him. Did he fake pleasure? Did I actually fail to make him feel good?

Am I unable to give pleasure to anyone?

His lips touch mine lightly. I start; I have been withdrawing so far into myself I missed something.

“Eldil. I did not mean to hurt you. You do not have much experience with all of… this, do you?”

I shake my head. Of course I don’t. Not only am I one of the only unaccompanied Valar but I am actually the only one who was actively rejected by his intended. Twice. How I am supposed to know _anything_ about loving someone else?

“No. I do not.”

“Your parents did not teach you?”

“No. I thought you liked…”

“I did. Not at first, but once I got used to it, I really did. I like being with you. As puzzling as it is.”

“Why puzzling?”

“My father taught me to always respect my partner’s wishes. Consent – continued consent is important in a healthy relationship. It is of utmost importance for the act to be pleasurable for both.” His cheeks remain pale, but his ear and neck turn to a far more pinkish shade. His skin feels hot; I have to restrain myself not to touch him. Now is perhaps not the best moment. “You acted like you did not… care about my consent. I should not have liked this. I should have resisted you far more than I did.”

Consent. _This_ is going to be quite annoying and complicated.

“There is so many aspects of this… that are wrong, that should feel wrong, but they do not. I should not have had sex with you in the first place and I should not want this again and I should want…”

I silence him with a deep kiss. I care not about his _should_ and what he is _supposed_ to do. I do not doubt my attraction, nor his, so why should he? Is this not enough? Is it not enough that this pleases us? I don’t care what his parents told him. They are just elves, lesser beings than I am. My word is worth far more than theirs.

Alathindo grows hard against me. I groan when he pushes me away. Why? He _likes_ this so why is he denying me?

“Eldil. I cannot.” I move my hand to caress his buttocks. I just have to make him like this enough to shut up. He grabs my wrist to make me stop. “I am married. This is wrong.”

 _Married_.

“You said she will not have you again. Why does it matter?”

He pushes me away, stronger this time. This is probably a sign that if I care about that _consent-thing_ I should let him go, so I do.

“Have your parents taught you _nothing_? One may only belong to one. _Lay with one_. What we are doing is unlawful.”

“We are only laying with one person right now, I do not see what the problem is.”

“Are you _real_ , Eldil? Or are you mocking me right now?” He stands and starts pacing. Away from me, when all I did was state the truth. “The law's meaning is not that you cannot lay with more than one people at one time. The law means you choose one mate and stick with that one mate forever. From the first time to the end of Arda. You do not have sex in the fields with random strangers then walk away as if nothing happened. By the law you and I should be married, but I already am.”

“Why?”

“This is the law. The law Iluvatar set for us in the Song. What we did is unnatural.”

I look at him with what must be an utterly clueless expression since I have absolutely no recollection of Iluvatar dictating laws for the Children. Unless he delivered some secret knowledge to Manwë or Namo, and that I doubt, or added this law later, at their awakening, these rules cannot come from my creator.

“If this is unnatural then why did the elves of Cuivienen do this all the time?”

“They did not, Eldil. They woke up by pair and remained that way.”

No. No they did not. I am not an expert at elvish customs, but I spent time enough stalking them to know this is bullshit.

“This is a _lie_ , Alathindo. Elves in Cuivienen did not awaken paired up and they _did_ lie with each other. Some did claim a mate for life but not all of them. I do not think having sex with a random stranger was a foundation for marriage either.”

It is. For _Ainur._ For we are made of spirit and essence only, and the closest thing we have to sex is to merge together, in a way that does not allow our essence to fully dissociate afterward. Once we learnt to make bodies, however, our essences stopped merging unless we willed them to, thought this kind of mating is far less intimate. Alathindo, however, has a permanent body and was born with it. He wouldn’t be married without trying _hard_. Why, then, consider sex as an automatic way of bonding forever?

“They did so. Yet this unnatural behavior was due to the influence of Melkor and his teachings, and the fear of his creatures, inciting us to blindly reproduce. It is a result of Arda Marred and is not desired by Iluvatar.”

I spring to my feet, wrath on my face, muscle tensed, barely reigning my power. Alathindo takes a step back, yet I do not advance and turn my back to him. I know quite well the list of my crimes. Not because I regret them, but because Manwë took much time spelling them to me, before Namo took ages whispering them again and again and _again_ until I cried I was sorry just to make him leave me alone, before Tulkas _hammered_ them on me as a reminder of my disgrace. I stole, killed, tortured, I did enough to warrant being locked under the impossible weight of Aulë’s chain, and my brethren still see it fit to add to my record? To lie and charge me with more?

To charge me with a crime in the name of Iluvatar, a crime that does not exist?

Am I wrong to want Alathindo? Am I wrong to believe for just a moment that a fitting mate for me, someone I genuinely desire, would cross my path by Iluvatar’s will? Or is this just a joke played at my expense?

“A marriage is not valid unless _willed_ , Alathindo. You are not…”

“I am. I _willed_ this marriage, Eldil, I still _will_. She is my wife and I love her. This is why this is wrong. I am cheating on her.”

“She does not deserve you.” _And you are not married to her. You belong to me_. “You left her.”

“I have children.”

“I do not care. I do not mind if you have children.”

“I think _they_ care.”

“Stop trying to find _excuses_ for not doing something you want!” I turn back and see my outburst has startled him. “You left your wife and your children because you feel miserable. You hate your wife. You hate your family. You hate Tirion. You hate them so much you went _there_. You are so lonely you were ready to follow a random stranger who just happened to be nice. _I did not force you_. I asked you if you wanted to lay with me and you agreed because _this is what you want_.”

He shakes his head –no; yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t fly away, remains there like a doe in a circle of wolves. If he truly does not want me, then why does he stay?

If he does, why does he hesitate so? Is there some kind of discrepancy between his body and his mind?

I move toward him, and he steps back with a nervous look. Still not flying. I know terror, and this mere apprehension will not stop me. I catch him before he trips on his own feet and pull him forcefully against my chest. I feel his strong arms tense and push me; he is, however, a mere elf, and the budging muscles cannot do anything against my locked articulations. His eyes widen. I remember my farce of being of his race, and let go a bit to make my strength less inhumane.

My kiss is rough, long and breathtaking, leaving him panting, one hand still pushing, the other pulling my head toward his. Conflicted, but still hard. I move my hands to his lower back and feel him curve nicely as his hips come to rest against mine. The pushing subsides. I bury my head in his hair, against his arching neck, the pulp of my lips feelings Alathindo’s throat vibrating with his groans.

For someone who pretends not to want this, he is awfully loud.

I take him on his back, his nails scratching my back in retaliation to the initial discomfort, then digging into my shoulder blade while he begs me to go _faster_. I take my time, though, and go _slow_ , until his incoherent words melt into unintelligible moans, gaze locked with his starry stare. As long as I fuck him he is _mine_ , without any thought for his wife or family or anyone other than _me_ ; chest against chest, his heart beating against mine, our spirits brushing against each other.

I withdraw before he gets the chance to see too much of me. My spirit is not so different from his, but enough to arise his suspicion if I don’t pay attention. At least I give him the speed he wants. His renewed moans grow louder and louder until they abruptly fall back to breathless whimpers. I bit the soft skin of his neck as I come.

I fight the overwhelming urge to fall asleep with all my strength. I should get up, walk or do something, but I am loathe to let go of Alathindo, breathing deeply under me. I roll on my side and gather him into my arms, his naked legs entwined with mine.

“Tired.  Sleep. Stay?”

“Just let me fetch a blanket.”

I don’t want to let him go, but my arms are growing heavier and weaker. I struggle to keep my eyes open. They follow Alathindo. I will my body to be ready to spring to my feet and run after him should he try to abandon me. My beloved, however, comes back as promised, calm if a bit stiff, and lays by my side, head on my shoulder. I embrace him lazily while he arranges the cover above us. Our breaths mingle with the rustling song of grass under Manwë’s wind, grass thick and green and vibrant and soft under my back.

I could grow to tolerate Valinor if every day were like this.


	3. I am Shame

I wake with Alathindo still curled against my side. I inhale deeply into his hair, registering its smell, the feeling of the bare skin of his arm against my chest, of his splayed fingers on my heart.

I feel happy.

And yet. Yet I know I cannot consider this as granted. What is happening may mean the world to me and be nothing more than an interlude in his own life. We Ainur bond for life, in a way the elves cannot, for our very nature, once bound, cannot be changed.

As much as I wish for us to _be_ , I am scared of the consequences. I am Change incarnate. I am whoever I want, chaos made form, and enjoy the changes of states I usually revel in. My imprisonment forced me into the unbearable punishment of staying _still_ and solid in nature; my spirit still shivers at the mere thought of being bound again. Bonding has a way of solidifying one’s nature.

Despite these fears, I have been ready to sacrifice part of my freedom before. Surely the Valar told nothing to the Children of the lovely songs Varda and I sung before Time, before I left in search of the Fire; before she snatched Manwë from Ulmo and convinced my brethren to abandon me for my naïve brother. Surely they told nothing of my readiness to accept Ulmo after his own abandonment, and for that I am glad; for Water would rather pin after the Sky, helplessly and hopelessly, than defy Eru’s will to accept me.

Varda was burning as much as I was, and we did not constrict ourselves in thin bodies. Ulmo was water, changing by nature. Alathindo is not. If I give myself to him I will be bound forever, anchored to the structure I will have chosen at a given time.

I am afraid. I am terribly afraid.

Afraid of choosing him and loosing what I am.

Afraid of him not choosing me.

Afraid, despite myself, of being kept apart by my my kin and my creator, as they kept Ulmo from me and turned his affection into hatred.

“Something is bothering you.”

I start; bodies are harder to control than _fana_ , which are mere shells containing our power rather than a full, living, biological mechanic. In some very pleasurable ways it is fortunate I was ordered to wear a body rather than a fana, but hiding my emotions is harder.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I say, tensed, my fingers threading in his thick black mane.

“I was listening to your heart.” His hand leaves my chest. My eyes are set to the sky, unwilling to meet his. I am not sure he wouldn’t read too much in their depths with this piercing eyes of him.

I inhale sharply when his fingers find my cock.

“Shh. Relax.”

I do. He doesn’t even move apart from the slow motions of his hand. His breath brushes against the skin of my neck. I still feel his hair under my palm.

This is easily the laziest orgasm I had in my whole life.

I do not know for how long I doze after this, but it cannot have been long. He is still there, in the exact same position, when I emerge from my nap and he feels me awaken.

“Why did you leave your home?” I ask, tongue sleepy and limbs still languid.

He sighs.

“I guess I owe you an explanation.” He sits, leaving my side and shoulder cold and bereft. At least our legs are still touching; I trace invisible arabesques on his lower back with my fingertips. “I told you. I have a lot of responsibilities. Duties are expected from me. I am honored to fulfill them but… I am not… I am not very good at them,” he admits painfully. “I try. I try very hard. I dedicate half my time to them, and it is just hard because I have all those ideas filling my head… I have to push them away, to think _later_ , do what is expected, force myself to be interested, to look like I enjoy my duties and am listening even when the ideas become so loud I cannot hear anything else.”

He swallows; his voice is strangled, painful to hear, not because I am a kind person (I am not), but because I love him and could love him with everything I am.

“The other half of my time, I dedicate to my crafts. I go to the countryside because if I stay in the city, I am constantly bothered by others; but because I am not in the city, I always feel like things are happening behind my back. I feel guilty that I am in my forge rather than at court, but at the same time I always feel like what I craft is not enough. Everyone expects me to create and invent and better what we have, however not all of my ideas can be done, or done in a timely manner, and this is just unending because every time I believe what I just did was good enough, _every time_ , I see the look on my people’s faces and know that this is _not enough_. Every time I show them something new I just pave the way for new expectations.”

“They have no right to bother you,” I say, fingers drifting from his back to his arm to his hand. “They do not own you. No one does,” _but me_.

“I am not in a position of not being owned by my… by people,” Alathindo says. His fingers close around mine. “This is just the way things are. I have to be perfect.”

“You are. To me. You don’t have to be perfect because you will always be.”

His grasp tighten a bit around me.

“You are mistaken,” Alathindo adds slowly. “As much as I try, I do not like being with people. I want to please them, to listen to them, to show them how much I love them, nonetheless they tire me. I feel like they drain all fire from me and I am left empty, a shell with a fixed smile and strained eyes pretending to care. I am _inadequate_.” His fingers clench. “My father… my brothers, even my wife, they make this look so easy. I look like I hate everyone when I am standing beside them. I cannot understand how they do this. They leave each council with the energy to change the world while I wonder how my face can still be attached to my head. I go back home, I write about my ideas and create when I have the time to lessen the pressure… sometimes I need this so much I have no energy to spare for my children or my wife.”

He lets go of my hand and curls forward, head cupped into his palms, shoulders bowed. I sit up and embraces him from behind, feeling his strong back tremble against my chest.

“I can bear this life. Most of the time I can because I know I love my family and they know I love them, in my own inadequate way… of late… of late I am not sure they know anymore.” His hands come to rest on my forearms, palms wet against my skin. “I have a baby boy.” He sniffs and swallow. “I am not sure I love him, and I do not think he loves me either. His brother… I loved all of my sons, and his elder, my sweet Curvo, I am so close to him there are some days I feel I am the one who carried him. But my last baby, I just feel _nothing_ for him. Nothing more than what I feel for everyone else at court, all those people who believe I hate them and do not care. I am a terrible person. How can a father not love his child?”

I have no answer for this. I have no children of my own and never will; Eru was quite clear that nothing would come of me, despite how much I wanted to. I am not meant to create, or even to hold such a fragile thing as a child.

I have seen mothers deprived of their babies. I did not do the stealing myself, for I am too brutal to hope to capture creatures more fragile than full grown adults. Those I took, I chose them because they were fearless and strong. I wanted to make them stronger; I needed them to be resilient to the cold and extreme warmth since those were the only lands allowed to me by my brethren (and for this I will never repent of my “crimes”; for how can they tell me that I was wrong, when all I wanted was a people of my own to rule as they do, and they left me no chances to do so?). There was one of my servants, however, a former maia of Irmo, who specialized in taking children. She would lure them with songs and sink back in the shadows while the parents of her preys shrieked in despair. Such screams were more terrible than pain or terror; they were agony made sound, and often one of the parents would let him or herself die when no body was found.

The Valar did not find Fluithin. I do not know if they found the children she took to fill the gaping wound in her heart when she understood, as I did, that Eru would never grant us the progenies we wished for. I moved on; she did not.

In all my years in Mandos, I haven’t once thought about Fluithin. She and I had few in common past the impossible desire to have people of our own and the way our nature didn’t fit with Manwë’s laws. I think about her and wonder how she would have comforted Alathindo, or if she would consider him a monster for his lack of feelings, she who is most probably the worst villain of the elves’ bedtime stories.

“Perhaps the people around you take too much from you. Perhaps you cannot love him because they suck so much from you, you do not have the energy to love anymore.”

I think of all the people in my long life, who have long despised me, who stole a _world_ from me and would have me at their feet, begging for the crumbs of what was mine. I think of Varda whom I must honor despite (and who cares that she betrayed me first, and that her betrayal was twofold?) everything, of Ulmo who loved my Ice before Eru told him to love the mist and rain better than my gift. I think of Eru, my creator, who gave me an unending thirst and holds sustenance in his hands, only to let it slip from his fingers under my very eyes.

How many time have I thought I would be better without them?

“Why do you stay at court? Just leave them. Spend half your time with me, half with your children.” I kiss the nape of his neck and pulls him a little more against my chest. “You can do whatever you want. If court makes you unhappy then just go.”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot or should not?”

“Should not. Want not.”

“Why? Why would you want to stay there?”

He is an elf. He has more choices than I have, than We all have – all of us poured too much of ourselves into Arda. I cannot go back to the infinite universe; oh, I tried! I tried, and Arda pulled me back with chains of my own making. My wings are weaker than the bones I set into the earth.

“For the sake of someone I love. But for her… I would leave. Perhaps I would have left already.”

“Your wife?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. I am afraid of the answer; if he is ready to suffer so for her… have I deluded myself? Is his love for her greater than I thought?

Is it great enough to make him chose her, who could anyone else, over the binding of my entire nature to his being?

“… my mother,” he murmurs.

“Is she asking you to…”

“She is **dead** ,” he interrupts me. He is stiff as stone in my arms; I instinctively put more strength into my embrace. I will not let him go. “She died here, in Aman, birthing me. I owe her to fight for her legacy.”

“Mothers usually love their children. Why would she want you to be as unhappy as you are?”

“What I feel does no _matter_ ,” Alathindo says angrily. He tries to get up and I have to let him go: there is this consent-thing to consider and he obviously doesn’t consent to be held anymore. He stands, his half-unbound hair barely hiding anything. “Of all the children born in Aman, I am the only one who caused his mother to die permanently. I do not have the freedom to do whatever I want with my life! What I took from this world, from her, I have to repay! I have to make this world a better place for everyone to live in, or else I would only add to the Marring. I have to prove that I deserve to exist in spite of…”

I spring to my feet and can hear no more. I cannot bear this. I cannot bear the idea that all this pain, all the suffering my beloved inflict to himself every day, all of this come from his belief that he is tainted.

Tainted because of me.

Tainted because I dared to want.

Tainted because _I exist_ , because I have the right to be there and to want and to act and to create and to think by myself. Tainted because I did not follow blindly our Creator. Tainted because I did not agree to obey to my little brother after he betrayed me and my love and stole everything from me. Tainted because I was _angry_ and how could I not be? How can I not be angry when none of the Valar want me for what I am?

And I see everything clearly. I see how Manwë and his band of petulant children drew a line. How they put everything they wanted for their beloved pets on one side – and everything they did not desire to my side, to the marred side, the _unwanted_ one they are supposed to suppress and feel ashamed of.

I am not Change. I am not Chaos, Creative Purpose or Might or Power anymore.

_I am Shame._

“In spite of what?”

I cannot ask Alathindo: in spite of me? You have to prove that you have the right to exist despite being, perhaps, maybe, tainted by me? How can I ask him to love me when he hates the part of himself he attributes to my doing?

He turns to face me halfway, his back between us, eyes shinnying above his chiseled shoulder. His expression is too complicated for me to read. Is he angry? Afraid? Horrified? Can he feel the turmoil inside me, my spirit fighting against the prison of flesh to erupt in storms of angry flames?

Will he, too, reject all that I am once he sees?

He turns again and face me in full. He is alarmed and I am quickly losing my own senses, drowning as I am in the sudden understanding that _he hates me_. Alathindo takes a step toward me, hand raised.

“ _You are bleeding._ ”

I snap out of the haze of desperation and feel liquid on my lips. Alathindo is on me before I know it, hands fumbling around my nose.

My spirit is destroying my body. I have to calm down. I have to repair… I cannot let him know.

“I am sorry. I did not want to scare you….”

“Sit down,” he interrupts me. I obey.

“I am just… I cannot bear to hear you speak of yourself as you do,” I try to explain as he drapes the blanket around me. He shouldn’t bother. I may look like I am hurt, but this body merely struggles to contain a spirit far too powerful for its flesh. I do not suffer, only feel a slight discomfort; I am merely trying to keep my nature a secret and try not to hurt my elf, as I may if I destroy this shell and change to the fiery form I usually favor when angered; when I feel utterly miserable, my temperature drops to unbearable levels. I _have_ to control my feelings or I may kill him on the spot.

I should tell him to leave. I should tell him I am of the Ainur and that my apparent discomfort is a threat to _him_.

“I should have kept my problems to myself. I am sorry.” He pushes a small piece of fabric against my nose. “Had I known I could make someone bleed with them…”

“No. You can always come to me. This is not your fault. It is the Valar’s fault. It is them, isn’t it? They told you you were tainted. They tried to _shame_ you. It is their fault, not yours. You are perfect and innocent. They are liars.”

His eyes widen.

“You cannot say such things, Eldil. I know you received quite the education, but surely your parents taught you that the Valar’s councils are infallible. If they achieve a decision together, then this decision is the closest to Eru’s will. If they say…”

“They _lied_. They are not infallible! They are powerful, yes, but they can be wrong and in your case they _are_!”

“No. They are right. If I am not marred then why can I not love my child?”

“I don’t know! Because you are tired? Because you are anxious? You love your other children. You are capable of love. The marring is just the Valar’s excuse for everything that does not go their way. It is the excuse they use for everything they do not understand, for their failures and mistakes in a world of conflicting liberties. They love consensus because they believe a perfect world is a world where everyone agrees with each other… what kind of world is this? A world with no disagreements? No ideas? No passion? How do you obtain this world? Do you redeem everyone who does not agree? Do you make them disappear or do you just wonder why they exist at all? And who decides? Manwë? Does Manwë get to decide whether you can exist, Alathindo, just because your birth makes him wonder why sadness can exist in this perfect kingdom of his?”

“You skin is warm…“

“Nothing abnormal. I get warmer when I am excited. Do not change the subject. Why do you believe them so blindly, Alathindo? You are too intelligent to fall for their cheap discourses.”

He stares at me with damp eyes and a face that desperately tries to stay neutral. I make him uncomfortable, but at least speaking ill of Manwë is something I am used to. I need to make this right. I need to make Alathindo loves himself if he is to accept me.

“I was taught this way,” he finally answers, sounding like this is not a good argument at all – and he knows it isn’t.

“So?”

“Everyone believes in this teachings.”

“So? Is something right because the majority believes it is?”

“ _Everyone_.”

“Not me.”

“No. But those who believe are Avari at heart. Elves who did not let themselves be touched by the Light of Truth.”

“Who says so?”

“Every scholar in Valmar and Tirion.”

“Do you believe them? Do you believe the Avari are wrong because they refuse the teaching of the Valar?”

“They believe Arda is a womb that was fertilized by Eru and refuse most progress so yes, I do not put much faith in what they say.”

“Is that all?”

“No. They do not live with us.”

“Why?”

“Ask your parents.”

“I am asking _you_.”

“Because they make normal people uncomfortable. Because we laugh at them and their misguided customs.”

“Because your people throw them away like trash.”

“This is not what I said.”

“This is exactly what you said. You would rather follow blindly the teaching of the Valar despite the fact that they make you hate yourself than even consider the point of view of the Avari because you are afraid your people will throw you away.”

“I do not recognize myself in their faith,” Alathindo interrupts with renewed vigor.

“But you do not recognize yourself either in what you have been taught to believe in.”

“I am not arrogant enough to contest the word of the Valar. This is hubris, Eldil, and I do not have the excuse of being ignorant.”

I would rather be ignorant than humble enough to cower as he does, I mean to say, but I open my mouth and close it back. This is exactly what I do. I submit to the Valar because I am afraid of them, and my power is infinitely greater than Alathindo’s.

“I would rather,” I say instead, “love an arrogant, happy elf, than see my beloved taken by despair. I will love your arrogance. Your pain makes me bleed.” I pull him into an embrace. He is stiff against me but does not shy away. “You are worth more than their peace, my beloved. You are worth more than the Trees, more than the light of the stars, more than the depths of the oceans.”

At this moment, I know what I have to do, why whoever governs Fate made me meet, of all people, a spirit so well suited to me in the middle of nowhere.

I have to set him free.

 

 

 


End file.
